Infected With Weird
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: Due to Harry's second excursion into the path of the killing curse, he's gained a little something extra.


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.**

 **Challenges listed at the bottom.**

 **AN** \- I feel like I should apologise for this in advance because it's insane. Happy reading :P

 _Beta'd by the lovely Sam, who is an angel._

 **Word Count - 1916**

* * *

 **Infected With Weird**

* * *

He fainted.

Probably not the most manly reaction, but he thought he could probably live with it. After all, it wasn't every day that you woke up to see your mother sitting on the end of your bed. Particularly not when she'd been dead for years.

Still, at least he was in his bed in Grimmauld Place and not in the shower. He'd just slumped back onto the pillows and gained an extra ten minutes of rest.

When he'd come around to find her still there, watching him with a small smirk on his face, he'd accepted it as yet another oddity about his life.

Seriously, he seemed to be infected with weird.

She'd taken the time to explain it to him properly. She'd been patient (mostly) with his interruptions. She'd also tried to throw a pillow at him, but with her being a spirit it didn't go very well.

Basically, because of Harry's second excursion into the path of the killing curse, his mind was more attuned to the dead.

That had been the cause for his first interruption, because hello, magical beings can see ghosts. Duh.

The look she'd fixed him with had terrified him. She might be a spirit, but she still had The Look that all mother's seemed to be trained in.

She'd told him that he could see and speak with the spirits that had decided to move on. The not-ghosts. Not her term.

She called them apparitions. Apparently this new ability was very rare.

Of course it was.

He'd argued. He'd pouted. He'd complained.

He just wanted to be normal, dammit.

All to no avail. He was stuck with it, she'd informed him, albeit gently. He had no choice. Being the master of death probably had something to do with it, she'd tacked on to the end.

Regardless, he was stuck being haunted by the not-ghosts.

Would his life ever not suck?

…

The paranoia of the first year with his new ability was ridiculous. He didn't know who was real and who was a not-ghost. He'd walk down the street, chatting away to a friendly old man, only to find other people staring at him like he'd lost his mind.

Ah. Probably a not-ghost then.

Oops?

Eventually he learned to tell the difference.

And… perhaps it didn't always suck.

The look on Dennis' face when Harry had arrived at his door, Colin in tow, had left Harry with a warm fuzzy feeling for days. And Harry had been able to stand with Fred while they watched George get married to Angelina.

On the flip side, his life plans had been throw out of the window. He couldn't be an Auror when he was being haunted by not-ghosts. They were a bit too much of a distraction and he was likely to find himself in the path of a third killing curse.

Not a thought he relished. He was quite satisfied that he'd lived through two. No need to push his luck after all.

He was judged rather harshly by the public for that choice. The British Wizarding Community expected him to continue protecting them, and when he didn't, they were outraged. It didn't help that he'd chosen not to let the news spread.

He'd pondered the decision, but eventually, decided against it. He had enough with being stalked by not-ghosts. He didn't need to add batshit crazy old women wanting to talk to their dead dogs or something.

For a few years, Harry didn't do much. He passed on the occasional message, mostly anonymously, unless he knew the people personally and could trust them to keep their lips zipped. And then, Minerva reached out to him.

Would he like to return to Hogwarts?

Absolute no brainer.

…

"Morning sweetheart."

Harry looked over his shoulder in the mirror, smiling around his toothbrush at his mum.

"Morning Mum," he replied, when he'd finished cleaning his teeth. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I came to see if you were prepared for the school year."

"You do that every year. I'm thirty six, pretty sure you don't need to wave me off for the first day of school anymore."

"Pssh. You'll never be too old," she told him, waving a dismissive hand.

He shrugged. "At least you're the only not-ghost here this year. Remember the year Dad and Sirius came with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "What have I told you about that term, Harry Potter. Call us apparitions, or spirits. Not bloody not-ghosts."

"Love you, Mum."

"Love you too, Sweetheart. Have a good day."

He nodded, watching as she faded from view. Smiling to himself, Harry continued getting ready for the day. No matter how much he complained, he liked that she appeared on the first of September every year.

It was nice.

…

There was cold on the back of his neck.

There was a barely audible whistle in the air.

Harry harrumphed. "Don't make me kill you again," he growled, dropping his quill onto the desk.

Tom Riddle came into view, sitting down elegantly in the chair across from Harry's desk. Harry wasn't quite sure how, but he surmised it was something to do with his soul pieces being reunited, but Voldemort had been transformed into his more human form.

At least, he had a nose.

That was an improvement.

"Hello, Harry."

"Tom."

"Would you really kill me again, if I was to come back to life?"

"Moot point, you can't come back to life," Harry replied, massaging his temple. He had a headache. Student essays were… challenging.

Alright, so some of them were completely dumb.

"But if I were to find a way? If I was successful in conquering death once more?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't feel like pointing out that Tom hadn't actually conquered death the first time around. Him being a not-ghost and all. "If you started killing people, I suppose I'd have too."

"And if I didn't? If I was a model citizen?"

Snorting his amusement, Harry shook his head. "Like I said. Moot point."

Tom rolled his eyes. "You're being particularly boring this evening, Harry. I'm most disappointed."

"If you want entertainment, you could always grade this drivel for me."

His lips tilting up, Tom shook his head. "As you've pointed out, Harry, I am but a ghost. I cannot hold a quill."

"Psssh. You were a Dark Lord and you're scared of a bunch of first year essays. Admit it."

"If I'd been forced to read that drivel, as you call it, we would have been saved a war. I'd have been ended by the tedium."

"I'll remember that the next time we have a Dark Lord."

"There are none like me," Tom replied, his eyes narrowing.

"There are always men like you, Tom. It's only a matter of time before the next one surfaces."

There was no reply and when Harry looked up, Tom had faded from view.

…

It had horrified him the first time Tom Riddle had appeared beside him, although admittedly, that the man had appeared on his bed, lounging beside him as he read, was at least partly to blame for that.

Now though, years on from that first appearance, Harry rather looked forward to his visits. He was an intelligent conversationalist at least half of the times he showed up.

And a pain in the arse the other half, though Harry had long since learned that in his life, he had to take the rough with the smooth.

…

Harry's fiftieth birthday was messy. His friends had thrown him a party, and alcohol had been involved.

He'd taken the usual ribbing about being an eternal bachelor. His extra…. Extraness had all but guaranteed he'd never take a partner, and while most of his friends knew and understood why he eschewed relationships, they still took the piss on a semi regular basis.

There had been cake. Three cakes. Because Molly, Ginny and Hermione all wanted to make his cake. He'd stayed out of that fight, but he heard there had been plates smashed and he'd noticed the three of them on different sides of the room.

And there had been battle.

His predictions years earlier to Tom had arrived, sooner than Harry had expected if he was honest with himself.

There was a new Dark Lord trying to make a name for himself, and he seemed to have his sights set on Harry.

Quelle surprise.

Still. He'd made it to fifty and one day, so he thought he could probably count it as a win.

…

"I saw what happened."

Harry nodded. "Of course you did."

"You fought well," Tom added, and Harry was only a little bit surprised to hear the respect in his voice.

"I've had a lot of practise," Harry replied, giving Tom the side eye.

Tom looked pleased. "Then you admit that I had at least one positive effect on your life."

Harry could only sigh. Bloody egomaniac.

"You had a practical effect on my life. I learned to keep myself alive. So… I guess that can be counted as positive."

"I think so," Tom confirmed.

…

"The bastard is trying to blackmail me!" Harry raged, throwing the letter on the table, stamping his foot with anger.

"Harry… did you just stamp your foot."

"Ram it," Harry snarled, glaring at Tom. "That pretentious prick is posturing and threatening to out my… extraness to the Prophet if I don't leave off. I'm gonna kill him dead. Deader than dead. He won't even be able to be a not-ghost. Fucker!"

Tom chuckled quietly. "Have a butterbeer and calm yourself down. You won't be able to do anything while you're this angry."

Harry wanted to argue. He really did.

But he couldn't.

He wasn't seventeen anymore. He had to actually think about things now. Plan. Be an _adult._ It sucked.

Opening a bottle of butterbeer, Harry sank into his armchair.

"Fine. I have butterbeer. I'm calm."

Tom shook his head. "No. You're not. But here's what you want to do."

…

Turns out, when you've got the old Dark Lord in your corner, with his genius like strategy, new Dark Lords are pretty easy to put back in their corner.

It also turned out, that Harry and Tom made a pretty good team.

Not that Harry would ever admit that to anyone.

That seemed like an easy ticket to the insane ward at Saint Mungo's….

Though it might be nice to have a rest.

Hmm…

…

"He's waiting for you sweetheart."

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

His mum smiled. "Tom. He's waiting for you. You're almost with us, so close that the others can't get through to you now."

"How… how're you 'ere?" he managed to force out, suffering a coughing fit for his troubles.

"I'm your mother," she murmured. "I'd like to see anyone try and stop me from being by your side when I was to be here."

A tired smiled lifted Harry's lips before his eyes fell closed once more.

…

"I can finally touch you."

Harry smiled, leaning into the gentle hand that caressed his cheek. He'd known for a long time that the feelings between them had changed, but he'd never cared to admit it, not even in his own mind. It was one thing to enjoy talking to the man who'd long attempted to kill him, but to fall in love was something else entirely.

Then again…

"You will forever be my downfall, Harry Potter."

He'd always known he was infected with weird.

* * *

 **Written for;**

 **Character Appreciation** \- 48. Successful

 **Disney** \- Rabbit - Character stamping their foot.

 **Book Club** \- Mr Jacquel - Dog/Practical/Being judged

 **Showtime** \- 8. Wordset - Lost/Paranoia/Three/ Mother

 **Days Of The Month** \- Unicorn Day - Something Rare

 **Buttons** \- D4. "I think so." / W2. Respect.

 **Ami's Audio Admiration** \- 2. Apparition

 **Lo's Lowdown** \- D1. "There are always men like you."

 **TV Addicts** \- 4. American Horror Story - "Don't make me kill you again." / Blackmail / Medium.

 **Easter Build A Bunny** \- Purple Purse - 12 Grimmauld Place.

 **Auction Prompt** \- Butterbeer.


End file.
